The Complete Book of Gardening
by Kathryn D. Lyon
Summary: -"I don't like owing people, okay?" "You don't owe me anything. Just politeness, Mr. Rude Boy." Mike/OC.
1. Magic Mike

**A/N; **So I love Mike, and there are like, two Mike/OC stories in this forum. And I just got Season Two on DVD and have been watching the Mike episodes obsessively. ;) I thought I'd add a story of my own :3 Constructive criticism is great, and let me know if you like the story or want me to continue! :)

**Disclaimer;** If I owned _Pretty Little Liars_, Mike would so be in it more.

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**THE COMPLETE BOOK OF GARDENING**

_1; Magic Mike_

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"You got a detention _again_?"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic," I said, lazily swinging open my locker door. Marjorie Blackwood leaned against the locker next to mine, clutching her binder to her nonexistent chest like it was her lifeline. "Didn't you hear about the Boar breaking up with his girlfriend? Of course I got a detention, _again_."

Marjorie frowned. "He had a girlfriend?"

I snorted. "I know, right? I figured he probably found her online and they started a long-distance relationship and then they decided to meet and then he found out that she was actually a hairy old man in his eighties." I grabbed my orange history binder and stuffed it into my bag before slamming my locker shut and turning toward Marjorie. She was looking at her phone for the fiftieth time in the past hour.

"Hmm?" she finally said, turning to face me again.

"Oh, come on," I snapped. "He'll call you back!"

"What if he doesn't?" Marjorie practically wailed, sagging against the locker. I glared at her for a second before turning around and walking down the hall. "Annabel!" Marjorie called after me. "Come back!"

"I have detention, remember?" I shouted back without turning around. I turned the corner right after I answered Marjorie and almost bowled over Noel Kahn.

"Whoa there," said Noel, laughing a little. A couple of his jock backups were standing slightly behind him, snickering. "We all know you're a regular, Annabel. No need to scream it down the halls."

"Shut up, Noel," I growled, pronouncing his name like the Christmassy girl version. I sidestepped him and hurried around, walking straight to the room that was my doom. And I am so sorry that rhymed.

I let myself into the room that was already almost full. "Great day for troublemakers," I muttered as I passed by Dr. Dartmouth's desk. She snorted; I wondered if I'd actually managed to wake her from her century-long slumber. The only thing people really knew about her was that she belonged in a museum somewhere. My favorite rumors about her were that she was once married to Ernest Hemingway (her first name was Pauline) and she knew Napoleon Bonaparte's first wife.

The only desk left even remotely close to the back was surrounded on all sides. I hated being surrounded by people, probably because I still hoped somewhere inside me that one of my friends would eventually get detention the same day I did and join me, but today I was stuck.

Kirsten Cullen was in front of me, flicking through a fat important-looking textbook and highlighting as she went. Teddy Kitsch was sitting on my right and snoring; Taylor Redding was sitting behind me and munching on something disturbingly loudly; and Mike Montgomery was on my left very obviously trying to sneak a listen on his iPod. In my opinion, I really only had one option for conversation.

Kirsten was on the varsity field hockey team, and I was stuck on JV…yet again, even though I was in the eleventh grade. Kirsten wasn't exactly prized for being the most nice and wonderful person in the world, and she would probably just laugh in my face if I tried to make some good, normal conversation. Teddy was, well, unconscious, and in my experience, unconscious people have never really made good conversation buddies. Taylor would probably spew whatever he was eating all over my back if I tried to start a conversation. And that left the young Mr. Montgomery.

His sister was in my grade: Aria Montgomery. She was pretty freaking popular, even though she didn't even bother to try. That was probably because she was in the newspapers just about oh, every other day. Her popularity (well, her ability to somehow always be in the rumor mill) leaked over onto Mike, who everyone had always thought was hot anyway. I couldn't say I disagreed.

"Hey," I hissed in his direction. Mike glanced up toward me with his eyebrows raised.

"Do I know you?" he whispered back a little sharply.

Lovely attitude there, Mike. "No, probably not," I admitted, nodding. "I'm Annabel. Nice to meet you. If you want to listen to that, you probably won't have any problems. Dartmouth has been alive since the Tudors. One of my lovely classmates cursed at her in class and she didn't even hear him."

"Seriously?" asked Mike, one corner of his lips upturning slightly. He was even cuter with his adorable little half-smile. What was I thinking? He was…hey, he was only one grade below me! Nice.

"Yep," I said, smiling brightly. "She told him he wasn't allowed to ask questions and he called her a bitch to her face." I shook my head and dramatically gazed off into the distance. The moment was ruined by the sound of Taylor starting to choke on whatever he was eating behind me.

"You in here often?" asked Mike, as he began to play with his earphones. He wasn't even bothering to whisper much anymore. Kirsten twisted around to look at him as if he was disturbing the very important peace; I buried a snicker in my elbow at her expression.

"I gladly admit to it," I told Mike. "Mr. Bora and I kind of have a serious enmity going on. Can't wait to freaking escape his class. I think math is my death."

"And I think _you_ will be my death," growled Kirsten from in front of me. I leaned out of her line of sight and looked over to give Mike a she's-totally-crazy look; he smiled and went back to checking his iPod.

I figured that conversation was officially ended and faced the front again. At least four people, not including Teddy, were passed out on their desks. I sighed and reached for my bag. I wasn't in the mood to study, since it was a Friday, but I figured I could doodle if I really needed something to do.

I dug around until I found a yellow notebook and a pen. The second I flipped to an empty page I started to draw. I sketched an iPod, thinking about the conversation I'd just had, and then started to doodle some _Unity_ lyrics from the Shinedown song I was officially obsessed with. I had just started to move on to sketch Dr. Dartmouth with her old hubby Ernest when I glanced to my left and caught sight of Mike scrolling through his iPod.

It was probably a little weird, but I couldn't help but keep looking. Hey, I wanted to know what a Rosewood elite listened to. I figured it was probably a mixture of Foster the People, old Justin Timberlake, and maybe even some Justin Bieber. I was pleasantly surprised: instead of generic pop, there was Linkin Park (the old stuff, I hoped), Breaking Ben, and Shinedown. And, yes, Foster the People.

I wanted to ask Mike about what he was listening to, but I didn't dare disturb the Queen of Studying in front of me. I abandoned my sketch of Dartmouth and wrote in spindly capital letters WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO? I then reached over and tapped Mike on the shoulder.

He twisted toward me, looking torn between annoyed and confused. I held up my notebook and pointed at my question. He nodded, understanding; I started to set my notebook down, hoping he would just answer, but he grabbed my notebook out of my hand and took my pen. He then proceeded to write his answer on the paper.

Okay, I honestly had no issues with this. Mike might have been Aria Montgomery's brother and might have been incredibly typical, but he was one good-looking dude. I didn't mind passing notes back and forth with him. In fact, I wished he was somehow in my grade, so I could pass notes with him in actual class.

Mike passed the notebook back with my pen. I looked down and blinked. Apparently he had scribbled random letters and then crossed them out and circled them. I'd seen bad handwriting before, but it was nothing like this.

"What the heck does this even say?" I asked, momentarily forgetting about El Kirsteno. Her curly blonde ponytail bounced in front of me like she was twisting her head with tons of attitude.

Mike frowned and pulled one of his earbuds out of his ears. "What?"

"Do you write by holding your pen in your mouth?" I asked, gesturing at the paper.

"Yes," said Mike flatly. "Wonderful deduction, Sherlock."

"Well, thanks, Watson," I answered with a fake British accent. "I found it quite elementary myself." Mike snorted and shook his head, putting his earphone back into his ear. Ah, well, looked like I didn't get an answer.

I looked down at the paper to try and decipher it again. I thought I could discern an L in the middle of it, but that didn't give away anything. I decided to presume he was listening to Shinedown. If he was, he automatically had my respect, even though he was kind of an aggressive conversationalist.

I passed the rest of detention glancing over at Mike's iPod, lightly flicking the end of Kirsten's ponytail, drawing Dartmouth and Hemingway (Demingway for a couple name?), and wondering what kind of dog the people I was housesitting for had. Frankly, I was surprised they wanted me to housesit. I wouldn't have even trusted myself with a house. I could barely keep control of my own incredibly messy room.

Thankfully, detention was only an hour long. The second Dartmouth came to life and informed us that we were free to go, I jumped up, slung my bag over my shoulder, and started wending my way to the front of the room and the door. Unfortunately everybody else was trying to escape too, which meant I was stuck a little further back. Fortunately I ended up next to Mike.

"So what _were_ you listening to?" I asked him, as we waited for the traffic jam in the doorway to clear up.

Mike was in the middle of stuffing his iPod into the pocket of his jeans. "Oh, Linkin Park," he said with a shrug. "The old stuff."

"You have my respect," I told him in all seriousness. "Original Linkin Park is legit."

"You like it?" said Mike, looking up. His eyes were a very nice shade of dark olive-green. I nodded, smiling slightly. He smiled back, a little shyly. Sadly before we could continue on the awesome path to friendship, we reached the doorway, and then he was gone.

I shrugged to myself and started down the hallway, heading for my locker. I'd remembered that I needed my Chemistry book for this weekend. As I opened my locker and started to dig through its contents, I heard the sounds of feet tromping and doors opening. By the time I found my stupid book I couldn't hear anything anymore.

And then I could. I closed my locker as I heard none other than Mrs. Montgomery's voice echoing down a nearby hallway – the one that the front doors were on. _Great,_ I thought. _So now I get to awkwardly pass by as Mike and his mom are arguing or whatever._

It did sound like an argument. "Why were you in detention, Michelangelo?" demanded Mrs. Montgomery, as I grew nearer and nearer to the corner I'd have to walk around to escape this school. _Michelangelo?_ I thought, frowning approvingly. _That's kind of a sexy name._ A split second later I thought, _Annabel, blech! Sophomore you're thinking about! Sexy is reserved for Channing Tatum and Matt Bomer and that movie _Magic Mike_!_

O dear God, save my mind.

I drew in a deep breath before walking around the corner and almost walking right into (Magic) Mike. (I am so, _so_ sorry I thought of that.) "Oh, sorry," I blurted, taking a step back. I glanced toward Mrs. Montgomery, who looked like she was out for blood, and then back at Mike, who looked nothing like the guy I'd just talked to in detention. I wondered for a bizarre moment if this was some sort of child abuse situation.

Maybe there was something I could do about it. I smiled at Mike and started to walk around him toward the doors; and then I turned back to give him what I hoped was a grateful look. "Oh, and Mike, thanks so much for saving me today. If you hadn't been there I don't know what would've happened. I'm sorry you ended up with a detention." I winced before nodding politely at Mrs. Montgomery and escaping the building.

The air outside was actually really nice. It was slightly breezy and felt like a cold snap. I pulled my scarf out of my bag to tie it around my neck. Hopefully I'd done the right thing back there. Ah, well, I had other things to worry about. Like my housesitting job tonight.

Magic Mike.

Ugh.


	2. Deranged Spock Dog

**A/N;** Thanks for the favorites and reviews! :) I got the idea for this chapter from _Lock and Key_ by Sarah Dessen; she happens to be my favorite author. ^^ Well, enjoy!

**Disclaimer;** Nope, don't own it.

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**THE COMPLETE BOOK OF GARDENING**

_2; Deranged Spock Dog_

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There were various reasons that I hadn't been looking forward to housesitting. I didn't like leaving my own pets alone at home because my dog usually had withdrawal issues when I was gone and my cat would probably spend his time tearing apart the pillows in my room for fun. I didn't have a license to carry a gun, which was probably good, except when robbers tried to break in. I hated big empty houses, which was exactly what this house was. And the people I was housesitting for had their own dog, who was tiny and yappy and really, _really_ annoying.

I was just trying to sit in front of the television and wipe my mind of the _Criminal Minds_ marathon I'd stupidly watched earlier in the afternoon when their dog started barking for the millionth time. "What are you even barking at?" I yelled. My voice actually echoed around the empty house and a chill crawled down my spine. I grabbed my phone for protection (I could dial 911 if somebody jumped out of the refrigerator to snatch me) and headed into what looked like a study to find a legitimate weapon. I picked up an iron fire poker thingy and walked back out to the living room with it.

The dog was still barking. "Okay, Muffin," I shouted. "Wanna tell me what the hell you're barking about?"

Unfortunately, the dog kept barking, no matter how loudly I yelled or how threateningly I brandished the iron fire poker thingy. (Just for the record, I would never actually hit any animal with anything.) So I put Muffin, the little bundle of joy, out back and laid down on the couch in the hopes I might actually get some sleep.

And for a while I actually did. It was weird, because I'd expected to just sit up with my eyes going bloodshot in front of the TV all night. I didn't like being alone, especially in a place I didn't know, even though in my experience places I did know were always just as dangerous. Anyway, I had a nice little dream involving cutting off Kirsten Cullen's ponytail, meeting Mr. Bora's hairy eighty-year-old-man girlfriend, eating Marjorie's phone, and going to see _Magic Mike_ with Mike Montgomery.

Yeah, the whole thing was just awkward.

I was kind of grateful when Muffin started yapping it up again. I practically shot off the couch, my hair probably a tangled mess, and walked out back with the iron poker thing in one hand and my phone in the other. "Okay, Muffin," I said as I stepped out into the too-lush-to-be-real grass in my bare feet. "Where are you so I can tell you to hush it?"

Muffin was barking from somewhere on my left. I didn't think twice about heading in that direction; my eyes were adjusting to the darkness. Besides, the moonlight was actually pretty legitimate tonight, enough that I could see where I was going even though it had to be past midnight.

I stopped in front of the fence. "Muffin," I whispered, starting to pace. "Where are you, you little cretin?"

I probably looked insane, creeping in the bushes waving a fire poker thingy and muttering under my breath about a muffin, but I didn't expect to see anyone. Actually, I didn't see anyone. I felt something smashing into my back though.

"What the hell?" I yelped from my compromising position on the ground. There was a large black bag lying on my back and mulch apparently trying to climb into my mouth. Muffin chose that moment to reappear with a yap and a happy wagging tail. "You did this somehow," I said to Muffin, who cocked her head at me. "You little transporting Spock dog." She did, after all, seem to be everywhere at once, just to bark irritatingly.

I struggled to shove the bag off me and looked up toward the rather tall fence. I gripped my weapon of choice and waited for something else to come flying over the fence. When nothing did, I started to relax: and then the shadow of a person appeared on the top of the fence, as if fighting to climb over it.

Muffin started up a barking frenzy. I yelped when I saw the person appear and tripped backwards over the bag on the ground, landing with an unceremonious smack right on my ass. _Bruise tomorrow,_ I thought wildly before focusing on the intruder. "Hold up!" I called up to the person, my voice wavering slightly. "I have an iron fire poker thingy and a deranged Spock dog named after a breakfast treat, so don't come any closer or I'll have to drop you!"

"Who are you?" asked the person trying to climb the fence. "Where are the Tomlinsons?"

"I'm their housesitter, you loon!" I snapped. "And don't make me call the police!"

"I should've picked the other side," grumbled the person on the fence. It was in that moment that I realized I recognized the guy's voice: and then I could see a light switching on through the cracks in the slats of the fence and I could hear somebody calling, "Mike? Is that you?"

_Is this really happening?_ I wondered. _Am I still dreaming? Is a hairy eighty-year-old man about to appear?_ I pinched myself to see if I was asleep; apparently, I wasn't, and apparently, I was going to be bruised in more than one place, because apparently, I was very good at pinching.

I looked down at the bag and then back up at Mike Montgomery, who gave me an annoyed look before dropping to the other side of the fence. "Yeah, Dad," said Mike, sounding totally apathetic. I peered through the slats of the fence, being totally sketch and totally admitting it unashamedly, and caught sight of Mr. Montgomery in a robe and slippers with his hair sticking up facing Mike, bathed in artificial light from the back porch.

"What are you _doing_?" asked Mr. Montgomery, folding his arms.

I had a very good idea as to what he was doing, and I guessed that he probably didn't want his dad to know. That would ruin his whole plan – or, what I assumed was his plan. He'd probably been trying to run away, which lead right back to my original child abuse theory about the Montgomerys. That would explain, at least, why Aria seemed to be so messed up. Okay, uncalled for.

Anyway, I dropped my fire poker thing and crammed my phone into my pocket before rolling my shoulders back and pretty much throwing myself at the fence. I somehow managed to scramble up it, with Muffin barking and panting beneath me the whole time, and poked my head over the top. "Umm, hi!" I called. Mike looked up at me with alarm clearly written all over his face. Mr. Montgomery's head snapped toward me and then he unfolded his arms and smacked his hand against his chest, as if afraid his heart was about to try and make a run for it. (Like his son. Okay, uncalled for, again.) "I'm Annabel. I'm housesitting for the Tomlinsons and Muffin was barking at some bunny or chipmunk or variation of cute suburban creature. Mike just came out here to see what was going on. Sorry about this!"

Mr. Montgomery's mouth was slightly open, as if he was trying to decide whether to believe me or not. Mike refused to look in my direction. Muffin just kept going at it. My arms started to shake, and I shifted uncomfortably, scrabbling for a hold on the fence with my bare feet. Awwh, _shit_. Splinters, here I come…

"It's all right," said Mr. Montgomery, finally. "I didn't know the Tomlinsons had a housesitter."

"Me neither," muttered Mike.

I chose to ignore this addition and smiled as cheerfully as I could. "Yep, that's me!" I said, moving my arms to try and accommodate myself better on the fence. "Seriously though, I'm sorry about this. Would either of you happen to know how to make the dog stop barking?"

"I think the Tomlinsons usually leave Muffin at a professional kennel," said Mr. Montgomery. "Sorry."

"Me too," I said flatly. "Well, see you at school, Mike. Bye, Mr. Montgomery." I offered them both one last bright grin before letting go of the fence and flopping backwards onto the mulch and bush below me. Muffin jumped out of the way at the last second as I landed with a thud. I lay there for a minute, trying to catch my breath and staring up at the stars.

I could hear Mike and Mr. Montgomery talking to each other as they walked back inside. I wondered what I was supposed to do about Mike's bag; I could probably give it to him at school, if there was any way to be inconspicuous about it. When I finally regained my breath I sat up and looked at Muffin, who stopped barking to look at me with her little head cocked.

"Your fault," I said to the dog.

Muffin just looked at me before turning and trotting off. I watched the dog go disbelievingly. Seriously? She was over it that fast? What – I don't even –

I rolled my eyes and struggled to my feet, afterwards grabbing my iron poker thingy and Mike's bag. As I headed back to the house, wondering if I should bring Muffin in with me and wincing at the stinging splinters in my feet and my hands, I wondered if maybe my pinching actually wasn't that good and I was still dreaming.

Nope. That had really just happened.

Stupid Spock breakfast food dog.


	3. Your Worst Nightmare

**A/N;** Hehe, sorry about the lateness of this update. The story behind my lateness includes an antique, the name Paulo, the DMV, and Canada. Back to our regularly scheduled programming... ;)

**Disclaimer; **Don't own!

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**THE COMPLETE BOOK OF GARDENING**

_3; Your Worst Nightmare_

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When Monday morning finally came around, I was getting sick of staring at that bag. So I unzipped it, stuffed my schoolbag into it, threw it over my shoulder, and marched out to my car with it. I had to make it look legitimate if I wanted to return it today: and I definitely wanted to return it, because every time I looked at it I thought of that awkward in-the-night encounter.

Once I parked in the student parking lot, I dug my schoolbag out of Mike's bag and left Mike's bag in the backseat of my Corolla. I locked my car and headed for the front doors; Marjorie caught me about halfway up the steps. "He called me!" she blurted, looking positively exhilarated by the thought.

"Awesome," I said flatly. Honestly, I didn't care anymore. Marjorie had met a cute guy in August at some upscale tennis camp and they'd exchanged numbers. They'd talked online through the rest of August and September, and she'd finally called him a couple of weeks ago this month, and apparently, he'd called her back. Marjorie had been obsessing over this for so long that I really didn't care anymore. "What was his name again?"

Marjorie looked at me in astonishment. I wondered for a second if she was going to have a stroke or something; and then she burst, "Well, fine, if you don't care I'll go tell somebody else!"

Oh, Marjorie, I thought as I watched her stomp away into the school building. She was entirely too sensitive. She exploded with sadness or happiness or rage at least twice a day. She'd probably be over it by second period. Or maybe, if I was unlucky, she'd be weeping over our lost friendship by lunch.

I headed to my locker and hoped that Marjorie found somebody else to care, because clearly, that wasn't going to be me. Obviously if somebody asks about a name, that means they don't care. (Because that makes so much sense.) I rolled my eyes and started to dig through my messy locker on the hunt for my literature binder and _L'etranger_ by Albert Camus – the French version, obviously. We were reading it in, duh, French class. I was still looking for the French book (my locker was a disaster area, okay?) when Jack Goulding appeared on my right.

"Hey, Annabel," said Jack lazily.

"Did you see Marjorie yet?" I asked, glancing in Jack's direction. He looked like he usually did, all rebel without a cause. He smelled faintly of smoke already, even though he usually did that between third and fourth period. "She's either all sad with me or all mad with me."

Jack snickered. "Isn't she always?" he answered, leaning back against the lockers behind him. "What'd you do this time?"

"Nothing," I said, as I finally found _L'etranger_. "I asked her what that guy's name was."

"Oh, _how_ could you forget?" exclaimed Jack, throwing one of his wrists against his forehead with a noisy gasp. "How _could_ you?"

I laughed and shook my head. "You are a jerk," I told him as I closed my locker door.

"And you are a freak," he answered promptly. "I've got a lit test this morning that I can't miss unless I want to fail out of the class and disappoint my parents even more, so I'll see you at lunch, maybe."

"Maybe?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"It might be Jack time by then," he said with a shrug. I snorted and shook my head again as Jack turned and walked off, giving me the peace sign over his shoulder as he went. Frankly, I was most surprised at his actually wanting to take a test. He usually skipped school. I was always kind of surprised to see him in school at all.

I headed for first period, _L'etranger_ in hand, and kept my eyes peeled for Mike as I went. When I finally saw him he was talking to that annoying lacrosse kid Chaz. It was really too bad his name reminded me of my dog's (Paz). "Hey, you," I called over to the two of them. Mike glanced around and rolled his eyes when he saw me. Well, sorry for helping you twice then, Michelangelo.

"Who are you?" asked Chaz blankly, as I joined the two of them by the lockers.

"Your worst nightmare," I answered cheerfully before turning to Mike. "Can I talk to you?"

Chaz snickered. "I'm already leaving," he said as he walked off, apparently thinking he was giving Mike and I romantic alone time. I watched Chaz walk away for a second before turning back to Mike.

"What do you want?" he asked rather aggressively.

_You really want to play that game, Mikey boy?_ I thought irritably. "I just wanted to tell you that I have your bag. It's in my car if you want it. I can give it to you at lunch or the end of school or something."

"Can't you just give me your keys so I can get it?" asked Mike, as if this was the obvious answer.

I sighed. "I don't want you stealing my car, and do you want to walk through the halls of school carrying a big bag stuffed with clothes? Kinda suspicious, don't you think?"

"What do _you_ know?"

I just looked at him for a second. Like hell I'd tell him anything about myself, especially anything that important. I didn't tell anyone anything about the important stuff, not even Marjorie or Jack or the rest of my friends. I couldn't even tell my own freaking therapist. "Just find me so we can get your bag later," I finally said before turning and walking off.

So clearly Mike was not, after all, magic. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder as I headed for the French room, now officially annoyed. I didn't like people getting into my business. In fact, I realized as I took my assigned seat near the front of the room, Mike probably didn't like people getting into his business either, which was why he seemed to be so irritatingly rude.

Unfortunately, I kind of had a thing for fixing broken stuff. For example, once upon a time in what felt like another life, I used to fix cars with my dad. That was probably what started it, because ever since I'd been screwing in lightbulbs and using duct tape and helping people that needed it. So for the rest of the day I kept going back to Mike Montgomery, who struck me as both needing some kind of help – and being incredibly dangerous.

He wasn't the kind of dangerous that meant he would punch me in the face or kick my dog or steal my car; he was the kind of dangerous that meant I might eventually trust him. I didn't have to worry about that for a long time though, that I knew, and I shoved this thought out of my head.

I sufficiently distracted myself, which was really what I was all about anyway, until the final bell rang and I headed for my locker. A few minutes after Alexis Martin abandoned me to go to her student council meeting (she's in pretty much every club or council or society humanly possible), Mike Apparated beside my locker.

"Hey," he said suddenly, right as I was halfway in my locker looking for my history book. I yelped and literally almost fell into the locker.

"What is your problem?" I demanded as I struggled to upright myself, adjusting my hair and my shirt. "Don't sneak up on an Annabel like that! I can't handle it!"

Mike looked at me oddly before shaking his head and moving on. "Can I have my bag now?"

"Well, for that I might hold it hostage," I answered in a snarky way. "Hold on, I have to find my history book." I dove back into the world of my locker, digging through the piles of random crap I had stored in there. It took me a good four or five minutes to actually find it.

I straightened up again and closed my locker door. "Okay," I said as I attempted to fix my hair into something more presentable and hopefully non-frizzy, "let's go."

Mike and I headed down the hall and out to the parking lot. I passed Marjorie on the way, who had happily blathered to me about the guy (whose name turned out to be Jacob), and she looked at me and then at Mike and then turned around and slammed her locker shut. Apparently not telling her about Magic Mike trying to jump a fence meant she was officially angry with me…again.

I really needed new friends.

When Mike and I reached my car I unlocked it and swung the door open. "Well," I said, gesturing at the backseat, "go for the bag."

I took a step back to stay a polite distance away from Mike as he grabbed his bag. "Thanks," Mike muttered as he slung it over his shoulder. He looked at me and I nodded, afterwards closing the back door. Mike stood there looking at me for a second; I waited for the verdict. "I don't like owing people, okay?" he finally said.

"You don't owe me anything," I said with a shrug. "Just politeness, Mr. Rude Boy."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Sorry, okay? It's not your fault." And he promptly turned around to leave me with that cryptic bit of loveliness. "Bye then!" I called. He waved one hand over his shoulder in a lazy goodbye.

Huh. That went well.


	4. How About Them Oranges

**A/N;** Hey! I'm updating, clearly! :) Review if you're reading, please!

**Disclaimer;** Don't own.

* * *

**THE COMPLETE BOOK OF GARDENING**

_4; How About Them Oranges_

* * *

For some reason it seemed that Mr. Bora didn't hate me as much as usual. Instead of giving me yet another detention for talking out of turn in class, he told me that I had to come to his room and clean up after school. I was already planning a good nice prank for his room the second I stepped out of class when the bell rang.

I left a furry, moldy orange in Mr. Bora's desk (don't ask where I got it) and then proceeded to Superglue the drawer shut. How about them oranges, eh, Boar? Just to make up for it, I then pulled the trash out of the trashcan and tied the top, afterwards putting a new bag into the trashcan. And voila! I was done. I'd already vacuumed and washed the whiteboards.

I headed out of the room and closed the door behind me, hoping vaguely that it was locked. Oops; did I lock you out of your room, Mr. Bora? Hah. I snickered at that thought as I headed for the back door out of the school. Everybody knew that the Dumpsters were around back – and there was a door labeled 'Emergency Exit' that nobody ever used, so I assumed that had to be the door out.

Hopefully there would be no alarms.

I didn't even hesitate before shoving open the door and going for the nearest Dumpster. Turned out I was right; there were at least three other Dumpsters out here, and piles of full trash bags. It was a nice, smelly little alley, and if there hadn't been Dumpsters and trash and all that, it might have been a nice little corner.

"Wow, Annabel," I said aloud. Yep, I'd just been thinking about what a nice little place this was. I was definitely messed up. I was about to go back inside when I heard the unmistakable sound of somebody throwing up.

I smacked my hand over my mouth. Okay, it smelled gross out here, but not _that_ gross. "Who's there?" I asked, walking out further into the Dumpster alley and looking around. For a second I didn't see anyone: and then I did. It was none other than Michelangelo Montgomery between two particularly bulging trash bags vomiting into one of them.

Well, how about them oranges?

"Are you okay?" I asked, hurrying toward Mike. He looked up; his eyes were bloodshot, and it looked like there was a bruise forming around his right eye. Mike just looked at me for a second before returning to the trash bag and starting to dry-heave.

I had no idea what to do. I tried to think of the last time I'd been sick enough to throw up and what I did. He needed to get an icepack for that bruise on his face if nothing else. "Okay, come on," I said, waiting for Mike to finish attempting to throw up. When he did he looked up at me and coughed feebly. I winced at the expression on his face and leaned down to gently grab his arm and pull him to his feet.

"Where…?" Mike asked weakly, stumbling slightly.

"Hold on, bro," I said, carefully putting one of my arms around Mike's waist. He was warm, which was nice, and did not help me in stopping my thoughts of Magic Mike. He smelled like Dumpster and vomit though, which totally grossed me out. So there weren't any problems with Magic Mike thoughts anymore.

I half-carried him back into the school building. _Okay, nearest bathroom,_ I thought, quickly thinking of one. It was a few corridors away. I helped Mike there and noticed that he was limping; apparently he was in more trouble than I'd originally thought.

"What happened to you?" I asked as I unashamedly brought him into the mens' restroom. I helped him onto the nearest counter and looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Mike rolled his eyes; I pointed at him and said, "Listen, Mister, I don't have to help you."

Mike sighed. "I got into a fight. Happy now?"

"No," I said shortly as I reached for the nearest paper towels to grab one and hand it to him. "I want to know who tried to kill you so I can stuff furry oranges up their nostrils."

Mike chuckled weakly and accepted the paper towel, afterwards pressing it to his mouth. "It was Noel Kahn," he finally said through the paper towel.

"What?" I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the air. "I think that guy is the jerkiest jerk in the history of jerks! If we were in a public school, he'd be stabbing you out back and grabbing my ass in the hallway!"

Mike gave me a weird look, lowering the paper towel from his mouth. "Grabbing your ass?" he said, raising his eyebrows. I blushed and hesitated as I realized I was currently talking to Mike Montgomery about…my ass.

"So anyway," I said briskly, as Mike snickered to himself and possibly tried to catch of glimpse of my ass, "why did you get into a fight with him? And where are you injured? I think the nurse is probably gone by now."

"Looks like the nurse is in, actually," said Mike, that crooked smirk-like grin upturning one corner of his lips. I smiled at him and grabbed another paper towel.

"Are you bleeding or anything?" I asked, turning toward Mike and putting a hand on my hip. "What's wrong with your leg?"

Mike shrugged lopsidedly. "I think I sprained my ankle."

"Damn," I said loudly, shaking my head. "Boy. What you get yourself into?"

Mike laughed, and I laughed too. We both just looked at each other for a second, smiles fading. I cleared my throat awkwardly and felt myself blushing again as I handed Mike the other paper towel. "Well, if you're bleeding, here's another paper towel."

"Thanks," Mike muttered, taking the paper towel from me. I watched for a second as Mike wiped his mouth again and shifted slightly on the counter, rubbing one of his shoulders.

"So…how hurt are you?" I asked, tilting my head quizzically. "Do you think you need stitches or a hospital or anything? Your eye looks kinda swollen." Before I even realized what I was doing I reached toward his face and gently brushed my thumb over the purpling part of his cheek, right under his pretty dark olive-green eye.

Mike reached up too and caught my hand as I started to pull it away. We stared at each other for a long moment, and then everything came rushing back to me. I cleared my throat and finished pulling my hand away, taking a small step toward the paper towels. "Well, I hope you're okay," I muttered, looking down to adjust my shirt. "And if it means anything I hope Noel Kahn falls down a hole."

I glanced up toward Mike to grin sort of awkwardly before turning and starting to walk out of the bathroom. "Annabel," said Mike from somewhere behind me. I twisted back around to look at him; he looked sort of confused and sort of lost. I frowned slightly – and immediately tried to fix it back into a bright smile. "Thank you."

"Yep," I answered before heading out of the mens' room. Once I was out in the hallway I stood there for a second, deeply breathing in the smell of cleaner. It felt colder out here for some reason, and much nicer. I just stood there until I figured Mike would be coming out of the bathroom soon; then I turned and walked away, heading out of the building.

Okay, I was kind of freaking out. I was still blushing as I reached my car and fumbled for my keys. Magic Mike definitely had some type of magic. Or could it even be called magic? I didn't like the intensity of his look when he'd been holding my hand, just staring at me. Intensity terrified me.

I'd thought he would be dangerous. Turned out maybe I was right.

How about them oranges?


	5. Angry Hungry Kitty

**A/N;** Hola, my friends! :) Reviews are fun, so give me one! ;P

**Disclaimer;** Yup, don't own.

* * *

**THE COMPLETE BOOK OF GARDENING**

_5; Angry Hungry Kitty_

* * *

The night before the school-wide Truth Up thing at school, I had quite the interesting dream. I couldn't stop thinking about it the next morning or at school or that afternoon, when I was hanging out with Alexis and Lilly Trainor and RJ Lewis and Marjorie and Wesley Coleman at the Apple Rose Grille. Marjorie, of all people, was the one that picked up on my total lack of concentration.

"So what are you gonna do tonight about Truth Up?" Marjorie asked me, as Wesley and Alexis started to argue about the Penguins. "I'm going and I'm pretty sure Alexis and Lilly are going."

"Ugh," I growled. "Don't remind me. My dad's forcing me. He thinks it'll be good for my character or constitution or something stupid like that." I rolled my eyes and looked back down at the Forever 21 catalog I'd been perusing. "Watch me end up in a group with Noel and Jenna."

Jenna was the downright creepy blind girl that went to Rosewood with the rest of us. I wasn't sure why; I thought blind people were supposed to go to their own schools just out of safety regulations. Besides, she always looked like she was smiling slightly, even though I was sure if I was blind I'd never smile again for any reason. If I was blind, I'd be stuck with all my mental images from before I went blind.

Which reminded me of my dream. I blushed and shifted around in my chair. "Annabel?" said Marjorie from across the table, looking at me with some weird amount of apprehension. "Did you even hear me?"

"Sorry," I answered awkwardly. "I just had this dream last night and it's really distracting me."

"Really?" said Marjorie, like I'd lie about having a dream. "What was it about?"

I raised my eyebrows. There was no way I was telling her about my dream. I was never telling anyone about that thing. I mean, my dreams were usually pretty whacked out (once I dreamed I was a frog in Egypt where cats were revered and I had to escape an angry, hungry kitty), but this one was way more personal than my other ones. Including the one about Lucas Gottesman and Jenna Marshall. (I didn't even know either of them!)

"Nothing really," I answered vaguely, waving one of my hands in the air. "Maybe if they ask about dreams at Truth Up tonight and I'm in your group you'll find out," I added jokingly. Marjorie snorted and shook her head.

"I had a dream last night too," she admitted. She gazed off into the distance, looking quite alarmed. "It involved Murtagh from _Eragon_ and Draco Malfoy."

"Crack pairing," I blurted with a snicker.

Marjorie dropped her head into her hands. "Don't remind me!" she half-wailed dramatically. I laughed, sufficiently distracted, and forced myself to fully rejoin the conversation.

Unfortunately, I was split from my friends the moment we signed in at Truth Up that night. I was sent to a random classroom, where there was a semi-circle of uncomfortable-looking chairs set up, all facing one swivel chair in the middle. I glanced around in a vague attempt to find an ally and saw none other than Michelangelo Freaking Montgomery walking into the room.

He looked up and saw me as other people started to join us, including the fabulous Hanna Marin, the jackass Noel Kahn, the new girl Kate Marin, and a random sophomore I knew, Amanda Hammond. "Hey, Annabel," said Mike, choosing to sit in the chair right next to mine.

"I didn't know this was for sophomores, too," I said, looking down at my fingernails as if they were the most interesting things in the world. Thankfully, before I had to make any more conversation with Mike (whose almost-swollen eye looked good and dark now), Amanda sat on my other side and started up a chat.

I managed to avoid talking to Mike until Mrs. Montgomery, who turned out to be our proctor, showed up. A good ten minutes after she started to speak Jack slunk in, looking annoyed and maybe high. "And just who are you?" asked Mrs. Montgomery, as Noel snickered to one of his stupid jock friends.

"Jack the Ripper, ma'am," said Jack, oozing with fake politeness. I buried a laugh in my elbow, pretending to sneeze. Mike glanced over at me and raised his eyebrows; Mrs. Montgomery looked at me, too, although in a less curious way and a more oh-so-you-two-are-the-same-type way.

Okay, I liked Jack, but that pissed me off. I didn't run around cutting class and getting high and selling drugs and stealing answer keys. "Well, take a seat, Mr. Ripper," said Mrs. Montgomery, the sarcasm practically dripping from her voice. "I'm so glad you could join us tonight."

Jack sauntered over to sit in the last seat left, right next to Noel. Noel looked over at him with his nose scrunched up, like Jack was disgusting filth. That pissed me off, too. Apparently I was getting a little bipolar tonight: one second wishing everybody knew I was nothing like Jack, the next second wishing I could defend Jack to Noel. Maybe my irritation with Noel was more than just his facial expression, though. Maybe it was because the guy right next to me that had been the star of my dream last night had a black eye and possibly a sprained ankle and probably other injuries I didn't know about.

The whole night was, in short, a nightmare. Jack kept blurting out stupid comments (yeah, he was definitely high); Noel kept sneering in everybody's direction and generally pissing me off; Hanna and Kate kept having subtle catfights with their words, although it was kinda obvious that Kate was on the offensive while Hanna was just trying to defend herself; Amanda kept leaning toward me while she was talking, which was just kind of creepy and reminded me of Daisy from _The Great Gatsby_; and I could barely glance in Mike's direction without blushing or stuttering or blurting out something that was totally awkward.

Finally Mrs. Montgomery let us go to dinner. I was practically the first person out the door: I didn't want to get stuck with Jack or Amanda or Mike. I headed for the courtyard in the hopes that I'd find Marjorie or Alexis or Lilly or _somebody_ out there. Instead I found it empty, except for Jason DiLaurentis. That was a little odd, but he had his eyes closed and his earphones in, so I figured I wouldn't disturb him. I was halfway through my salad and my Vitamin Water – and working on a totally intense game of Angry Birds – when someone decided to join me.

"What are you doing out here?" asked the Last Person in the World I Wanted to See.

"Eating," I answered, keeping my eyes on the screen of my phone. "And attempting to play Angry Birds with one hand."

Mike, the idiot, sat down right beside me. I shifted over slightly in an attempt to move further from him; and then I wondered if Jason had opened his eyes yet and was watching this entire awkward interaction. "So," Mike finally said, "I don't know if I did anything, but you're acting like I ran over your cat."

"No, it's not your fault," I said, even though I thought it kind of was. "I just – I have a lot of stuff going on at home, and I'm – just – not in a good place right now." I chanced a glance up at Mike, who was listening attentively. "Sorry," I threw in lamely, going back to Angry Birds.

"Wow," said Mike. "It would've been really annoying if you'd been totally vague."

"I don't even know you," I said, a little snappier than I'd intended. "I don't even tell my friends about these things, and I've known them for six years. So…sorry."

"That's it?" said Mike, sounding annoyed. "You've seen me trying to run away and throwing up in Dumpsters, and that's it? We can't even be friends?"

"No, we can," I said hurriedly, turning off my phone. I turned toward Mike, seriously hoping that Jason wasn't eavesdropping. That would have been freaking awkward. "I was just trying to explain why I was being weird. I don't trust anyone, okay?"

Mike sort of half-smiled ruefully at me. "I don't either," he said after a long moment. He met my eyes for a second before looking away, toward the windows to the cafeteria. "You say there's stuff your friends don't even know. My friends don't know anything about me – not the real me _inside_ me, if you get what I mean. My parents and my sister haven't known me for years."

The weird thing was that I did get what he meant. I was the exact same way around my own friends. I'd agree and do whatever they wanted to do, and I'd laugh and I'd tell jokes and I'd pull pranks and I'd watch _Criminal Minds_ and I'd housesit, but what they knew only barely scraped the surface. Suddenly I was looking at Mike in yet another way. He wasn't the aggressive conversationalist from detention or the runaway from that night or the rude kid from the next day or the guy that needed help from the trash alley or the sexy guy from my definitely magic dream. He was the guy that might actually get it.

And that was the scariest thing about him.

"Mike," I ventured, when I was done thinking.

"Mm?" he asked, making an adorable quizzical sound in the back of his throat. He looked up toward me, his eyebrows raised slightly, his lips twisted a little in thought.

"Do you want to meet at the Apple Rose Grille this weekend?"


	6. With a Draculatastic Voice

**A/N;** Here's an update (: Review?

**Disclaimer;** Don't own.

* * *

**THE COMPLETE BOOK OF GARDENING**

_6; With a Draculatastic Voice_

* * *

All day Friday I had to keep convincing myself not to cancel on Mike. He'd given me his number the night before at Truth Up, and although it had been kind of awkward after our little conversation, it wasn't nearly as awkward as it could have been. In fact, we were just like any random people talking – for the rest of Truth Up, anyway.

He scared me. That was all there was to it. I hadn't met anyone that somehow seemed to understand. I'd met people online, but they didn't count, because I didn't know if they were really teenagers or if they were really hairy old men in their eighties (I can understand Mr. Bora's confusion). It was weird to actually know someone that might know me better than I knew myself.

Did I even know myself? Ugh – all these weird thoughts kept popping up in my head whenever I had two seconds to think to myself, and then I would think I totally had to cancel, and then I would distract myself with something else and keep on going.

Friday night I headed to the Apple Rose Grille, having worked harder on my appearance than usual. I kept glancing into all possible reflectors I passed by, looking at my honey-blonde hair in rearview mirrors, checking to make sure my coat looked good in store windows. When I finally reached the place, Mike was already there.

"Hey," I said as I walked in and joined him. Mike glanced up; a slow smile spread across his face, almost blinding me. I couldn't help but smile back. "So did you order anything yet?"

"Nope," Mike answered, popping the 'p'.

"Okay," I said awkwardly, glancing around the rest of the place. I caught sight of Wesley and Alexis at a table of their own and decided I would wave if either of them happened to glance in my direction.

I wasn't sure what there was to say. I wanted to stay floating at the surface, the way I always was with other people (and myself for that matter), but for some reason I felt like that wouldn't fly with Mr. Michelangelo. Just as I opened my mouth to try and explain, Mike spoke. "So you say you like Linkin Park."

Now that was a topic I could warm up to. "Yes I do," I said happily, as I tucked my hair behind my ear out of habit. "My favorite CD of theirs is definitely _Meteora_. I hate all the songs on _A Thousand Suns_ except for _Waiting for the End_."

"Same here," said Mike, nodding. "Except I don't like _Waiting for the End_. It doesn't sound like Linkin Park to me. I mean, there's a random guy rapping that sounds Jamaican, and it's all techno and less guitar and less Chester screaming…"

"But the lyrics are awesome," I disputed. "It could be applied to a lot of stuff. Oh – and I really like _The Catalyst_ too. Hated the rest of the album, though. Techno and I do not get along."

Mike snorted. "You don't get along, huh? I don't mind techno all that much – I like a couple of Skrillex songs, although I think that counts as dubstep, not techno. I guess out of all music genres I really don't get along with country."

"You get along with opera, then?"

"Well, no, but I don't hate it as much as I hate country."

"Aww, come on," I said, almost whining. "Country isn't all that bad! Don't you like Carrie Underwood or Kenny Chesney or Garth Brooks or Tim McGraw or Jason Aldean?" Mike looked at me with a combination of alarm and confusion. I snickered at the look on his face.

Before he could respond to my practically-a-declaration-of-love-for-country, the waiter showed up. "Good evening," he said, although he totally should have said it with a Transylvanian accent, "What would you like to drink tonight?"

_Blood!_ I imagined answering with a Draculatastic voice. "Coke, please," I said politely, leaning back in my chair. Mike echoed my sentiment and then the waiter left, presumably to find some Coke before going back into his vampiresque coffin.

"How do you like country?" asked Mike, leaning against the table. "Country is the most disturbing thing I've ever heard."

I blinked. "Have you ever heard Marilyn Manson?"

"No, I'm serious," said Mike, laughing slightly. His dark green eyes were focused on me intently, like he was legitimately getting deep into this musical conversation. I started to smile before I even realized I was smiling.

I shrugged, casting a cursory glance down at the menu. "I guess I kind of grew up with country," I admitted, as I unseeingly perused the menu just for something to do. "My mom would play it in the car wherever we went. She was kind of a country girl. So now whenever I hear old country songs like _If You're Going Through Hell_ and _Dust on the Bottle_ and _Song of the South_, it's like I'm listening to my childhood."

"Think about what you just said," Mike said, snickering. "Your childhood was going through hell and dust on bottles and the Great Depression."

"So you _do_ know country!"

"I wish I didn't."

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Oh, you so wish you knew it better," I said, shaking my head. "So what are your top five musical artists?"

Mike frowned thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. I watched as he thought about it and before I knew it I was looking down at his mouth – and that reminded me of that dream from the other night. I felt myself blush and glanced back down at my menu.

"Okay," said Mike slowly, just as the waiter arrived again. Mr. Transylvania handed us our Cokes and asked what we wanted to eat. I ordered a Caesar salad and Mike ordered some variation of chicken; and then the Edwardian waiter left again. "Oh, I have to think of them again," said Mike irritably, shaking his head.

I laughed. "Nothing like a vampiresque waiter to distract you!"

Mike gave me a weird look, one corner of his mouth twitching upward slightly as if he wanted to smile but wasn't too sure about it. "So I think my top five," he said after a moment, "are Shinedown, Foster the People, Johnny Cash, Pitbull, and Coldplay."

"Johnny Cash?" I asked, because frankly, this was the most surprising one.

"He's a legend," said Mike, as if this was the answer to everything in the universe. I looked at him for a second, wondering when the heck he'd decided he liked Johnny Cash. I only liked one Johnny Cash song: _Hurt_. "Well?" said Mike suddenly, expectantly. "What are your top five?"

"Okay, that's easy," I said. "Linkin Park, Shinedown, Breaking Ben, Three Days Grace, and Skillet." I nodded once to punctuate. "And another question for you: why do you like Coldplay? They strike me as boring."

"Boring!" Mike burst. "How?"

Basically the entire conversation that night consisted of talking and arguing about music. Mike decided that he would give me a CD of all the songs I needed to listen to so I would know that Coldplay and Foster the People were actually really good. I told him I would make a surprise CD for him so he could hear the best songs in the world. (Yes, I was planning to put a ton of country up in there.) Long story short, Mike and I basically liked all of the same things; we had music to bond over, if nothing else.

Mike and I lived in different directions entirely, so after we were done eating and decided to separate, he couldn't walk me home without having to double back. I wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. I kind of wanted to keep talking to him because it was fun, but I also kind of wanted him to just go away. I liked him – too much.

"Well, I'll see you at school Monday," I said, as we were saying goodbye to each other at a street corner.

"And I will have that CD for you," said Mike, grinning. "I can't believe you think Coldplay is boring. What kind of messed-up world do we live in?"

We just stood there for a second grinning at each other like idiots. I didn't know if I should hug him or what. Finally, before I could back out or decide to do anything else, I stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Bye, Mike," I said, turning and walking away.

Magic, indeed. He'd smelled like Hollister and faintly like rain, and I loved both of those smells to death. I wondered if he thought I smelled good – and then I thought nervously about why I was thinking this at all.

I didn't trust people. Typically they just ended up turning around and stabbing you in the back – that was what my mom had done to me, what my neighbor had done to me before I moved to Rosewood, what my ex-best friend from before Rosewood had done to me. If I didn't get close to people and start to trust them, then they couldn't hurt me, at least not as badly.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my plaid pea coat as I walked, my head down and my shoulders tensed. I liked Mike. I _really_ liked Mike. I liked how he had stuff he was hiding, too, and how he had his guard up, and how he understood, and how he loved music, and how he had his quirky little grin, and how he crinkled his nose when he thought something I did was funny or odd.

I knew I liked Mike and I figured he liked me. What I didn't know was if it would all be worth it – but I hoped to God it would.


	7. Throwing Random People

**A/N;** Sorry for the excessive lateness :P No excuses!

**Disclaimer; **Don't own.

* * *

**THE COMPLETE BOOK OF GARDENING**

_7; Throwing Random People_

* * *

By the time Monday morning came around, I was more confused than ever, if that was humanly possible. I'd had a dream on Saturday night about my dad threatening me with a gun and telling me to choose between Mike and my mom. Unfortunately, the choice had been easy.

And I hadn't picked my mom.

What had gone down there wasn't worth getting into. She turned on me; I moved in with my dad, as they were divorced. That was all there was to it – now, anyway. Back when I'd lived with her it hadn't been so maddeningly easy. It had been so maddeningly hard.

I shook my head to myself as I headed for my locker, wondering if Mike would catch me there. I had actually taken the time to burn a CD for him: I hoped he'd actually taken the time to burn a CD for me, too.

The first person to arrive at my locker was not Mike. I glanced up expectantly, thinking it was Mike, and then saw RJ Lewis instead. "So I hear there's a nasty smell coming from the Boar's desk," said RJ, all business.

"Oh, really?" I answered smoothly. "That's strange. You wouldn't have happened to had anything to do with that, would you?"

"Of course not!" RJ exclaimed, as if I'd mortally offended him. "How _dare_ you think such a dastardly thing of me?" He sighed noisily and shook his head. "And to think I thought you were on my side!"

I snorted and returned to my locker, on the hunt for my literature binder. RJ started to walk off dramatically: but he paused at the last second to lean back and whisper loudly, "I'm going to put a fish in Mr. Banks' desk later." With a mischievous wink, he turned and disappeared down the hallway.

"Wow," I said to myself, shaking my head. I was about to return to my ragged search when someone cleared their throat from behind me. I sort of expected it to be Wesley or Jack at this point, because the morning seemed to be throwing random people in my direction (on the way in, Lilly Trainor had stopped me and asked for fashion advice), but when I turned it was Mike.

"Well, good morning then," said Mike jokingly, with that crooked half-smile of his. "Should I be worried about RJ?"

I laughed. "I don't think so," I replied. "He's the one that changed all the lightbulbs in Dartmouth's room last year."

"That's not why I'd worry about him," Mike said, now smirking coyly. I just looked at him for a second, feeling the heat rise to my face, and then turned away to finish finding my binder.

"If you're still wondering, don't worry about him," I said, my voice echoing slightly as I answered with my head half in my locker. "He's an idiot."

"Good," said Mike promptly, right as I grabbed my binder from behind my collapsed locker shelves. (There were pieces of shelf lying in my locker, yes. I was too lazy to try and get them out.) I emerged from the disaster area probably looking like one myself.

Mike grinned at me as if he knew what I was thinking. I couldn't help but grin back. This guy's cheerfulness was freaking infectious, dude. "And I have something for you," said Mike suddenly, slipping his bag off one shoulder and swinging it around to start digging through one of the pockets.

"I have something for you too," I answered, going to my own bag to locate the transparent CD case. I grabbed it and straightened up right as Mike zipped up the pocket, his own transparent CD case in the other hand. "You will particularly enjoy the first few tracks," I informed Mike as we switched CDs. I glanced down at mine; he'd written, barely legibly, on the top: "Annabel".

"Oh, no," said Mike loudly. "They're country, aren't they?"

I just smiled innocently at him as I closed my locker. "What are you talking about?" I asked, as if I had no idea why he would accuse me of such a terrible thing. We both started to walk down the hall, joining the flow of random students. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and glanced over at Mike.

"Well," he said briskly, "you will have to wait and see what's on _your_ CD. I'm sure you'll enjoy those first few tracks, too." He wiggled his eyebrows mysteriously before turning to the left; I had to go to the right for my first class. "Don't judge before you hear the whole thing!" Mike called as he walked off.

"Don't skip the country!" I shouted back. I was still smiling to myself as I headed for my class: and then out of nowhere Aria Montgomery was standing in front of me. I looked at her with alarm. Her eyes were really big close up. "Sorry," I said automatically, thinking I'd almost run into her or something. I started to sidestep her, but she stopped me.

"Were you just talking to my brother?" she asked, all business. I nodded, at a loss. "Did you just tell him not to skip the country?"

I looked at her in confusion for a second before it dawned on me. "I don't mean America," I said, laughing slightly at the mistake. "I was talking about music. He hates country and I was telling him not to skip it." I was about to make my excuses and keep walking – this conversation was weird enough as it was – but I realized that maybe Aria knew about Mike's earlier attempt to, well, skip the country. Or at least skip Rosewood. Why would she be so oddly suspicious/concerned about my comment if she didn't know?

Aria was looking at me the same way: all narrowed-eyes and suspicious. "Why would you think he's going to skip the country?" I asked slowly, wondering if Mike had actually told her about his great escape.

"No reason," said Aria quickly. "I just thought he might have told you something." And then before I could give her a proper interrogation, FBI-style, she stepped around me and pretty much vanished into the walking traffic. I looked after her for a second.

Talk about throwing random people at me. The way this morning was going, Sean Ackard or Toby Cavanaugh would show up to talk to me soon.

Weird.


	8. An Intense Round of Headdesks

**A/N;** Sorry about this after such a long wait; it's definitely a filler. :P School's intense right now.

**Disclaimer;** Don't own.

* * *

**THE COMPLETE BOOK OF GARDENING**

_8; An Intense Round of Headdesks_

* * *

When I climbed into my car to drive home from school that same day, I crammed the CD into the CD player and waited, watching other random people as they passed by to reach their own cars. I thought I saw Mike getting into a car with Aria through a tangle of people, but then they were both gone. I wondered about Aria – she seemed so normal sometimes, just drivin' home with her bro, and yet she was insanely popular.

_Well, that's what Ali D gets you,_ I thought, mentally shrugging. My temperamental car finally started playing the CD; I checked around to make sure I wouldn't run anyone over (oops, did I hit you with my car, Mr. Bora?) and pulled out of my parking spot as the first song began playing. I was pretty sure it was a Coldplay song, though as I didn't know Coldplay (with good reason, might I add) and had no earthly idea which one it was.

I ended up skipping through most of the songs trying to identify them before going back to listen to them. As I pulled into the driveway of my house I had just started replaying the first song again; and as I was trying not to think _this is actually kind of okay_, my phone rang in the passenger's seat.

I flung myself across the front of the car – parking brake on already, yes – and grabbed my phone. I didn't bother to look at the caller ID before hitting the green button on the screen and pressing it to my ear. "Hi, you've reached the Crap Café, may I take your order?"

"Annabel?"

I froze. I'd previously been snickering a little, satisfied with my _One Piece_ reference, but now my smile fell away. "What do you want?" I asked. I hoped my mother could feel the frostbite on the other end of the line. I hoped she was shivering from the icy blast of cold.

"Annabel, listen to me. I just want to talk to you. You've been avoiding my calls for months –"

"With good reason," I snapped back. "Goodbye." With that I pulled my phone away from my ear, hearing my mother's protests and ignoring them, and hung up on her. Then I stared at my phone for a few seconds as the song changed to some other boring Coldplay thing.

After a couple of seconds I rolled my eyes, trying to snuff my guilty-feeling conscience, and reached over to toss my phone into my purse. I headed inside next, bringing all my essentials with me – including Mike's CD from the car. As I let myself into the empty house I wondered why on Earth she'd decided to randomly call me today.

She had called me before, and I had avoided answering before. I really wished I'd checked the caller ID before picking up the damn phone. I thought about her desperate voice and felt even more miserable about it: but avoidance, as I see it, is far better than conflict. Conflict just means the end of things. Conflict meant the end of my parents' marriage, the end of my relationship with Hunter Sullivan, the end of my relationship with my mother – the end of a lot of things.

But then there was avoidance. It was just so much easier. It didn't hurt to just…go away. It made it feel like the fizzling out was sort of supposed to happen, like it was a tide of fate gently tugging you in opposite directions. Conflict? Conflict was like God hurling you across the universe from each other so abruptly that you never saw it coming.

My dog Paz came galloping out of the living room, successfully distracting me. "Hey, Paz," I said, bending over to rub behind his ears. He wagged his tail so insanely that his whole body went back and forth. I couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous sight of him, and at least that cheered me up a little.

Once I'd let the dog out and considered doing my homework, I headed upstairs to my room, deciding that school could suck it. Up there I popped Mike's CD into my laptop and scrolled through the song titles that the computer detected:

1. _Clocks_ by Coldplay

2. _Fix You_ by Coldplay

3. _The Scientist_ by Coldplay

4. _Helena Beat_ by Foster the People

5. _Houdini_ by Foster the People

6. _Carry On_ by Fun.

7. _Hey Baby (Drop It to the Floor) ft. T-Pain_ by Pitbull

8. _Hurt_ by Johnny Cash

9. _Some Nights_ by Fun.

10. _Easier to Run_ by Linkin Park

11. _I'll Follow You_ by Shinedown

12. _Fly from the Inside_ by Shinedown

13. _Fake_ by Shinedown

14. _Call Me_ by Shinedown

15. _Talk_ by Coldplay

Well, I thought, that was nice. The one Johnny Cash song on here was the one that I already knew and liked. I also knew the Linkin Park song, although it wasn't my favorite, and I knew the Shinedown songs. I had probably at least heard the others once or twice on the radio, but I didn't know them by heart or anything.

I spent a while Googling song lyrics and reading them along with the songs. I decided that I liked Foster the People and still disliked Coldplay. The songs by Fun. were good, but I didn't particularly feel some enthralling desire to love them forever now. The Pitbull song I could do without.

Then I wondered what Mike thought of _my_ CD – if he was listening to it at all. I hoped he was. But he was really an attractive guy…what if there were girls from all walks of life handing him burned CDs out of nowhere? No, no: I was probably wrong. He was only a sophomore, after all.

But I did like him, didn't I?

I rolled my eyes at myself and barely resisted doing an intense round of headdesks. This was how it always went, didn't it? I wasn't supposed to get attached. I wasn't supposed to let myself. Because letting myself get attached usually meant someone ended up getting hurt. I didn't know who it would be this time, but I really hoped that somehow it didn't have to be anyone at all.


End file.
